Kelly of the Legion

The road lies amid a malevolent heath. It seems to lead us right into the clutch of the enemy; for the star-shells, that at first were bursting overhead, gradually encircle us. The fields are strangely sinister; the splintered trees are like giant toothpicks. There is a lisping and a twanging overhead.

As we wait at the door of the dugout that serves as a first-aid dressing station, I gaze up into that mysterious dark, so alive with musical vibrations. Then a small shadow detaches itself from the greater shadow, and a gray-bearded sentry says to me: "You'd better come in out of the bullets."

So I keep under cover, and presently they bring my load. Two men drip with sweat as they carry their comrade. I can see that they all three belong to the Foreign Legion. I think for a moment of Saxon Dane. How strange if some day I should carry him! Half fearfully I look at my passenger, but he is a black man. Such things only happen in fiction.

This is what I have written of the finest troops in the Army of France:

Now Kelly was no fighter;He loved his pipe and glass;An easygoing blighter,Who lived in Montparnasse.But 'mid the tavern tattleHe heard some guinney say:"When France goes forth to battle,The Legion leads the way.

"The scourings of creation,Of every sin and station,The men who've known damnation,Are picked to lead the way."

Well, Kelly joined the Legion;They marched him day and night;They rushed him to the regionWhere largest loomed the fight."Behold your mighty mission,Your destiny," said they;"By glorious traditionThe Legion leads the way.

They saw him slip and stumble,Then stagger on once more;They marked him trip and tumble,A mass of grime and gore;They watched him blindly crawlingAmid hell's own affray,And calling, calling, calling:"The Layjun lades the way!"

And even while they wondered,The battle-wrack was sundered;To Victory they thundered,But . . . Kelly led the way.

Till in a pit death-baited,Where Huns with Maxims waited,He plunged . . . and there, blood-sated,To death he stabbed his way.

Now Kelly was a fellowWho simply loathed a fight:He loved a tavern mellow,Grog hot and pipe alight;I'm sure the Show appalled him,And yet without dismay,When Death and Duty called him,He up and led the way.